


Tank Park Salute

by Luka



Series: Firestorm [2]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 04:38:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19041283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Lyle has a lot of thinking to do after Ryan is injured.





	Tank Park Salute

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second story in the Firestorm series, which follows on from the Iceman sequence. Jon Lyle, Ditzy, Blade and Finn appear by kind permission of Fredbassett. Any other original characters, including Major Preston, are mine.

Lyle stared out of the window, watching the stereotypical London bus crawl past. It was early evening, and the capital seemed just as busy as it had during rush hour. He hated London. He wanted to be back in Hereford where he could get his bike out and disappear into the country quickly.

The sole reason for him tolerating London came into the room, dressed only in a towel. "What is it, Jon?" Lester began to massage his shoulders.

"You know he wanted me to help him kill himself?"

"Ryan did?" Lester went very still.

"Yep."

"What did you say?"

"I gave him all the shit about how he'd got too much to live for now he's found Stephen … But thing is, I promised him …"

"Promised him what?"

"We were stuck on a hillside in Bosnia. He'd been rescued from a fucking crap hostage situation and being the stubborn bastard he is got back in the saddle almost immediately. The lad he was imprisoned with didn't make it. Ryan knew he'd had a fucking close call, so he made me promise that if ever he was badly injured or paralysed or terminally ill, I'd help him kill himself."

"And did he make the same promise to you?" Lester's voice was low and even.

Lyle nodded.

Lester sat down beside him on the window seat and Lyle leaned against him briefly. "Does Stephen know this?"

"Christ, no! The kid's got enough on his plate at the moment."

"Would you like me to mention it to his doctor, or to have a word with Major Preston?"

Lyle shook his head. "Ryan'd go apeshit if he knew I’d told you. And Preston has the subtlety of a guided missile. He'd be on the doorstep haranguing the poor fucker within minutes."

"Jon, do you think he is suicidal?"

"I don't think so. He's just angry and frustrated by the situation he's in, and you can't blame him for that. Suddenly Mr Superfit isn't in control of his body, and that’s hard for him to deal with." Lyle pulled away and roamed the room. If he'd have been at home, he'd have gone running or got the punchbag out, but they were going out for some posh meal at Lester's club.

"Would you rather we cancelled the table and stayed in?" Lester's voice was quiet.

"I dunno …" He paced some more, flexing and clicking his knuckles. "No, let's go. We're all ready and we've got to eat. Just let me get my jacket."

~*~*~*

Lyle always felt like a spare prick at a wedding whenever they went to Lester's club. The place was filled to the gunnels with ex-servicemen, but they all stared at him like he'd got 'bit of rough' tattooed across his forehead. The fact he was the youngest there by about ten years didn't help either.

"Evening, Sir James. Evening, Lieutenant Lyle." Max, the doorman, looked like he'd been there since before Noah launched the ark.

"Evening, Max. How's Betty doing?"

"Very well, thank you, Sir James. They should be letting her home next week sometime."

"Excellent news. Give her my best wishes, won't you."

"Of course."

Lyle had got used to all manner of people coming over to them while they were eating, nodding to him and then schmoozing or plotting with Lester. But tonight it was starting to get on his tits. He wanted to eat in peace, then go home and have his lover fuck him through the mattress. Lester picked up on this, and said quietly: "We'll go through into the private room and eat there, and then go home. Just let me have a quick word with Saunders, or he'll bug us all evening."

There were several private dining rooms, all arranged so that the movers and shakers could fix up their deals without prying eyes and ears around them. The one they were shown into had a roaring fire in the grate and thick velvet curtains shutting out the rain and cold.

The food, as always, was excellent, but Lyle barely tasted it. And he drank four glasses of red wine in quick succession. Lester rolled his eyes at the waste of a good vintage, but refrained from commenting.

Lyle said suddenly: "I want to get out, James. I've had enough of all this shit."

"I said we could go if … Ah. You mean the army."

"Yes."

"Then do it."

"Can't. It'll look like cowardice."

"Bollocks. You've got nothing to prove. Get out while you're young enough to still do something else."

"I dunno. Maybe. The idea of the security firm does appeal . . ."

"Start putting some feelers out. And …" Lester hesitated.

"What?"

"I'm not sure I should be telling you this, but you're being pulled off the anomaly project."

"What, just because I'm shagging you? No one batted an eyelid about Ryan and Hart!"

"No, all the Special Forces units."

"You're joking!"

"Sadly not. I've had both the MoD and the PM's office telling me you're all needed elsewhere and that a private security firm has to be brought in."

"Fucking plastic soldiers!"

Lester shrugged. "Their view is that it's crazy tying up expensively-trained troops on the project, and that you're being deployed somewhere else as soon as the private company's contracted."

"Which will be when …?"

"Within the next month, maybe less."

Lyle said nothing. But his thumbs started to itch.

~*~*~*

"Tenner it's fucking Afghanistan," said Ditzy, handing round pints.

"Says who?" Blade, the birthday boy, downed half of his in one swallow.

"Heard it on the grapevine."

They all harmonised briefly.

"That true, Ditz?" Finn looked worried, spinning a beer mat round in a pool of spilt beer.

"It's what I've heard."

"And it would explain why I've got a 9am meeting with Preston in the morning," said Lyle, squeezing a chair in between Kermit and Finn. 

"Yeah. Can't decide what's worse – being eaten by fucking mutant dinosaurs, or being bombed to fuckery by mad mullahs."

"You can cut that crap now, Ditzy!" snapped Lyle. They all turned to look at him, and he could see them staring at his fidgeting hands.

~*~*~*

The fact that Preston didn't offer Lyle a seat was a bad sign. And Ditzy's source, whoever they were, was spot-on. 

"Captain Stringer will be in charge of the one unit."

Thank fuck, thought Lyle. Joel was a good guy. And it meant they wouldn't have someone they didn't know parachuted in.

"I want you to lead the other unit. The two of you'll have Ditzy, Blade, Kermit, Finn, Adebayo and McIntyre with you. As I understand it, two more units might be deployed later."

"Sir."

"Don't do anything hasty, Lyle."

"Sir?"

"You know what the fuck I mean. It'll take the lads some time to get over what happened to Ryan, but that doesn't mean you all start fidgeting like you've got something rammed up your fucking arses."

"Oh, I'm used to that now, sir. The other lads aren't …" Fuck, why had he said that?

Preston looked at him and then guffawed. "Too much fucking information, Lyle. Seriously, I'm relying on you to get the lads calmed down and focussed for this op. They've had comrades die and be badly injured before …"

"Yeah, in battle or on ops, but not someone they rate as highly as Ryan, and not gored by some mutant dinosaur freak …"

"Point taken. But we shall be clear of all that shit soon, and not before time. About time the Home Office left us to do what we're paid to do and called in some sodding plastic soldier security firm."

Lyle shrugged and started counting backwards from 60, hoping Preston was about to run out of steam.

"I'm totally fucking serious about getting the lads back on track, Lyle."

"Yessir. But if any of them are thinking about bailing out, that's their choice."

"What about you?"

"What about me, sir?"

"What are you planning to do?"

Lyle shrugged.

"I know how close you and Ryan are, Lyle, and you were an outstanding team. But don't make any hasty decisions about your future. A lot of people rate you very highly and you can go as high as you want to …"

"Not any more."

"What d'you mean?"

"My private life isn't going to do me any favours when it comes to promotion."

"Rubbish. The army is an equal opportunities employer. Who you fuck isn't important these days."

"I wish I could believe you, sir. I know the top brass are saying all the right things, and I might be OK for promotion to captain and major. But after that, the lack of a respectable wife is going to be a serious impediment."

"Lester's got friends in high places …"

"And lots of enemies as well. And in any case, I want to be promoted on my merits and not because my partner's called in favours."

"What would you do if you bailed out?"

"Don't know, sir." Preston didn't need to know he'd already put out a few feelers about setting up his own bodyguarding firm. "Let's focus on this op."

~*~*~*

"When do you leave?"

"Next Wednesday."

"Short notice."

"Par for the fucking course. I'll do my best to email if I can, but don't bank on it."

Lester nodded.

"You going to be waiting for me when I get home?" Lyle tried to ignore the bad feeling he had about the whole op. And sudden he had an emotional attachment in the unlikely form of a sarcastic 40-something civil servant who was indisputably all male. 

"Oh, I think so. I've got used to you round the place by now, rather like a bad smell."

"Charmed, I'm sure …"

"And by then I'll be a free man."

"How come?"

"Divorce'll be through by then."

"About fucking time. Got something to celebrate then, haven't we?" Lyle knelt over Lester and nipped the end of his nose. Then he licked down the lean, wiry torso and darted his tongue into the tight arse, pushing his lover's legs up and back in a V. He spat accurately on the twitching opening and began to ease inside.

"You obviously missed out the section on foreplay in the good sex manual." Lester's voice was slightly hoarse and he bit his lip as Lyle buried himself even deeper inside him.

"No time for all that shit. Stick it in and get on with it, that's my motto."

Lester bucked his body upwards. "Well go on, then. All mouth and bloody trousers, you squaddies …"

And Lyle took up the challenge, enjoying the defiant look on Lester's face as he pounded into him. Whatever anyone else thought, this was an equal relationship in bed.

"You've gone quiet all of sudden," said Lyle, withdrawing 'til just the tip of his cock was enclosed in Lester's arse.

"Nothing to shout about at the moment …" Then Lester moaned as Lyle rammed back in deep.

"That more like it?"

"Get on with it …"

And then Lester's arms were around his neck and his legs locked round Lyle's waist, and it turned into a race to see who could come first, with Lester shouting triumphantly as his cock, trapped between their bodies, exploded. Lyle thrust in deep, rotated his hips and came himself as Lester clenched tightly around him.

As they rested companionably in the wreck of the bed, arms flung casually across each other, Lyle said: "Must admit I'm going to miss your arse."

"You've got a good right hand. Use it."

"Yeah, but it's not the same. I don't get the backchat from my hand that I do from you."

"You suggesting I talk out of my backside?"

"You said it, not me!"

"I've obviously spent too long consorting with Cutter."

~*~*~*

"Jon, you don't have to do this." Ryan stared at him seriously from over a pile of boxes.

"Got nothing better to do. And someone's got to make sure you fuck off for good from Hereford …"

Ryan nodded, and Lyle knew he'd be understanding the subtext behind the words, that sitting around at home the weekend before you were due to fly out on a special op was bad karma. Far better to be doing something, even if it was helping your best mate and his boyfriend move house.

The new house was an end-of-terrace in Clifton and was pretty much a dead ringer for the one Ryan had left in Hereford. Except it had an attic bedroom with spectacular views over the city which Stephen said was going to be their study. But it was going to take more time to get out of the city and into the countryside. Lyle was sure Ryan was going to hate it. The next-door neighbours were a young couple with a kamikaze toddler, who seemed pleasant, if distracted, when Ryan and Stephen introduced themselves.

The removal men had everything unloaded by 3pm, and by 8pm almost all of the boxes were unpacked and their contents stowed away. Stephen went to set up the computer while Ryan and Lyle went in search of a takeaway.

"Nice house," said Lyle, taking in the narrow roads jammed with cars.

"Yeah. Area seems fairly quiet, apart from the crazy parking. We visited at different times, which is about all you can do. And it's close to the gym."

They walked in silence, and Lyle wondered suddenly if this was going to be a defining day for their friendship. It happened all the time with army mates. You made all these good intentions to stay in touch, but people moved away, got posted overseas, left the forces, and contact waned. There'd be the annual Christmas card, of course, but one year that would stop and that would be it. Neither of them were the sort to go to regimental reunions.

Except, he and Ryan had been through so much together and aside from Lester, Ryan was the only person Lyle could honestly describe as a friend. And he'd grown close to Stephen, too, over the past few months. Lyle, who tried never to look back, still cringed with embarrassment when he thought of what he'd said to Stephen the night he gate-crashed their bedroom.

Lyle cleared his throat, then hesitated. Ryan looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "I don't want us to lose touch," said Lyle abruptly.

"We won't. Looks like an Indian over there. That do you?"

"Yeah, fine."

When they got back to the house with three carrier bags of food, Stephen had got the computer up and running, and was in the process of emailing people to tell them they were in safely. The fire was on, and some female folkie was whining in the background.

"Jeez, what's that shit?" asked Lyle, spooning a large portion of curry onto his plate.

"Don't ask. Hart's fucking crap music taste is grounds for divorce," said Ryan.

"Cheeky fucker. At least I'm not stuck in the 1980s with bloody Metallica!"

"And at least I don't have a Spice Girls mug …"

"I keep telling you, it wasn't mine! It was in the flat when I moved in."

"Yeah, course it was …"

Lyle opened a can of beer and sat back to enjoy the floor show. And he realised how much he envied them being so clearly and unapologetically in love. It made him think about him and Lester. He'd never been in love so he had no idea what it felt like. But he knew that he missed the sarky fucker when he wasn't around. Shit, it must be serious.

~*~*~*

Ryan's spare bed was like sleeping on a park bench. And when it got to 5am, Lyle knew he wasn't going to get any more sleep. So he crept downstairs, made some coffee and embarked on his usual pre-ops habit – making lists. He'd covered half a dozen sheets when Ryan surfaced at 7am. In the harsh early morning light his scarred face looked terrible.

Ryan saw him staring. "Yeah, frightens kids, horses, the bloody lot …"

"Bollocks. You're alive and they've done a fucking amazing job."

"Yeah. I've certainly had my money's worth from the NHS."

Ryan started preparing a fry-up, and Lyle brewed a pot of tea. Radio 4 was on low in the background and the kitchen was warm and smelled of bacon.

"We're going over to the gym at 10am, just to see what needs doing," said Ryan.

"Which means he'll be going round with a notebook scribbling down every cough, spit and fart," said Stephen, bouncing into the kitchen and snitching a rasher of bacon from one of the plates.

Ryan rolled his eyes, mouthed "ha ha" and started dividing the food between the plates. "You want to come with us and see what we've got ourselves into?"

"I won't this time, thanks, mate. Better get off early. I promised Ditzy I'd go through some of the kit with him tonight."

Ryan nodded, and they cleared their plates in silence. 

By 9am the kitchen was tidy again, and Lyle had stuffed his belongings into his rucksack and was ready to leave.

"Say hi to the lads from me." Ryan was watching him unblinkingly.

"Will do."

"And give us a shout whenever you can."

Lyle nodded.

"Be safe."

"Yeah." Lyle hugged them both awkwardly. Then he walked down the path without looking back.


End file.
